


Beneath The Surface

by liztits



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi, Titanic AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-03-16 05:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3476564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liztits/pseuds/liztits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moving to New York with her father, Laura Hollis is anything but excited.<br/>The big city doesn't hold a candle to the sleepy little terrace house she grew up in, and the prospect of a ten day journey was wholly unappealing, but chance encounters with a group of strangers can change everything.<br/>It's always said it's about the journey, and not the destination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

“Dad…” I look at the badly shirt folded in my hands before I drop it into the open and already overfilled suitcase resting on the bed. I’ve done the majority of the packing,  which means by the time our things are unpacked they’re going to be horribly creased. Half of my clothes are just balled up and shoved into suitcases and boxes. 

“I don’t want to hear it again, Laura.” My dad frowns, turning to look at me. “We’ve had the same discussion 10 times in the past two days, it’s beginning to wear thin.” He sighs impatiently, knowing I’m going to continue to talk anyway. To be honest, I don’t know why he even protested to start with.   
“But I don’t want to go!” I huff out, crossing my arms across my chest. “My life’s here. My friends are here, there’s a good college for me to go to... and mum’s here.” I frown, pressing the lid of the suitcase closed. “Can’t we stay?” I push down on the top with one hand, compressing the large pile of clothes and close the latches with the other. I know he’s going to say no, but I can’t help but try. 

The old latch on the suitcase pings open before I have a chance to seal the belt around the middle, clothes immediately spilling from the sides.   
“Laura…” My dad moves across the room to the bed, nudging me over and sitting on the edge of the bare mattress, the sheets already packed. I hastily shove the clothes back into the case, pushing the top down and  leaning on it while I fasten the belt, ignoring the latch all together.   
“We need this. There’s a job waiting for me in New York. You can make new friends, and you can go to school there. You can learn English, or Journalism like you wanted to. I know you’re upset, but you’re mum’s gone, love. She’s in here.” He puts his hand over his heart, and then taps his temple. “And in here. She’ll be with you no matter what. You know that.”   
I sit down next to him, he puts a hand on my knee and I cover it with my own, the soft skin of my hands meeting the rough, work-worn skin of his. “I know Dad.” I bump my head against his shoulder, he presses a kiss into my hair.   
“This is what’s best for us, you’ll see. A fresh start.” He lifts his arm, stretching it up to wrap around me. “Come on, help me get the last of this down to the car, we have to leave in half an hour.” He squeezes me into the side of his body before he stands up, grabbing the two suitcases resting by the foot of the bed and leaving the room.   
  
I stand up myself, smoothing down my dress and looking around the room that I’d grown up in, stripped bare of anything I’d deemed valuable enough to be moved to America with me, packed up in boxes and already shipped out.   
The house is sold, and new family will be moving in next week, making new memories and a new life and I hate them. I’m jealous, honestly.   
This was my home, and my life, and now it’s not. In a year it will be an already worn memory. In ten or twenty, I probably won’t remember the name of the street the house sits on, or the colour of the door.  
I look at the chips in the side of the doorframe, each one signalling my height every birthday for the last 17 years.   
Will there be a new set of marks? Will they be taller than me? I run my finger along the last couple of chips, almost all on top of each other, taking in the last time my mum wrote on the wall next to it.   
_Laura, age 16_.   
It’s been nearly two years.   
The house doesn’t smell like her anymore.   
Her clothes are gone and her favourite cup is broken, knocked off a table and shattered irreparably.   
Almost every physical reminder that she was here has been wiped clean.   
Maybe it’s time I let go. For Dad. For myself. I run my finger across my mums scrawl as if I can feel it, trying to memorise the script.   
I don’t have anything else. No letters, no cards, not a single note. I just have the eyes that stare back at me in the mirror, the rest of my face a reflection of my father.   
It was too sudden. No time to say goodbye, not really.   
A flurry of doctors and a heap of broken whispers crowd my last memory of my mother alive.  
Taking one last look behind me at the room, I sigh deeply, heading out of the door and shutting it behind me.

 

* * *

 

“Hi Laura.” My Dad’s bosses son Brody waves at me, face illuminated by the gentle glow of the streetlamps, as I hand the suitcase to him, still frowning. 

I look up at the sky, at the sun making its appearance over our row of houses, changing the black of the sky to a warm orange, setting the sky ablaze, and I think about how this is the last time I’ll see another sunrise in England, and that the moment’s been ruined by Brody waving his hand in front of my face. “Laura?”   
“Hey.” He’s nice enough, stereotypically tall, dark and handsome, and we’d be good friends if he could just stop asking me out. It’s all he’s done since we met a month ago.   
“I was thinking…” Here we go. “When we get to New York, maybe I could take you out, you know? We could go to a Nickelodeon or something?” He sounds hopeful. A shame.  
“Maybe, Brody.” I sound bored.   
I don’t even know why my Dad agreed that he could travel with us. He doesn’t even like the kid much, thinks I could do so much better. I don’t disagree with him, either.   
It’s not that I think he’s a bad person or that I’m above him, and I’m sure he’s going to make some girl very happy some day but I just don’t feel anything for him, and when you know, you know. You know?   
I’ll know when I’m in love. And doing better is never about the person, really, is it? It’s about doing better for yourself. Brody can do better, too. Find someone who will love him. Who wants to go to Nickelodeons or something.  
  
“Laura!” I feel a strong hand clap against my shoulder. Maybe if I spent less time thinking in vast internal monologues and more time paying attention to what was happening around me, I would’ve been able to avoid the hand. “Ready for the big day?”  
“Hi, Mr Kirsch.” I force a smile, reaching around to rub my shoulder. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”   
“She’s just nervous. I’m sure when her feet are back on solid ground in New York she’ll feel a lot better.” My dad appears beside me, grinning and rubbing gently on the spot Mr Kirsch has hit. “I appreciate you driving us to the port, I know it’s a long way.”   
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He grins, then claps my dads shoulder. He jolts forward a little. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I only wish that I could come with you! The boy will have to do for now.” He grins when Brody makes a noise of protest from behind the car. “It’ll be good for him, learning how to run the family business. Learning how to be a man! Plus, his Mom misses him.” He winks, then looks down at the watch strapped to his wrist. “We’d better get moving now if we want to be on time.”   
“Right, I’ll just lock up then.” My dad looks up at the house, sadness clouding his features.   
I’ve forgotten in all this that this was my dads home too, and as much as he says we aren’t, he feels like we’re leaving Mum behind a little too.   
I slip my hand into his. “We can do it together.”   
He looks down at me, smiling gratefully, and we walk over to the door for the last time.   
  
“We’re doing the right thing, right?” He asks me. “I’m doing the right thing, for you. It’s what your mum would’ve wanted. Right?” He jingles the key in his hand, metal clicking against metal softly.    
He actually looks unsure for the first time since he told me we were moving to New York. “We’ll have a better life. More money. You can meet a nice American boy, settle down. Give me some grandkids. We’ll be happy.” He nods to himself.   
“You’re doing the right thing.” I tell him. I’m still not sure if it’s the right thing for me, but it’s the right thing for him. He’s actually looked happy, excited even, for the first time since we lost Mum. It’ll be good for him. He’ll be happy. “This is the right thing.”   
“Your mum would be so proud of you, Laura.” He smiles softly. “I’m proud of you.” He looks at the key. “She picked this house, you know? For you. Wanted you to grow up around neighbours and make friends instead of living out in the middle of the country in a house too big and too quiet.” He laughs quietly. “Didn’t want you to be one of those snobby rich kids who don’t know how to do anything for themselves and marry the man with the most money. She’d be so happy if she could see you now, getting ready to go to university and take on the world. Her little girl all grown up.”   
He finally puts the key into the lock, turning it and locking the door. I reach forward, running my fingers down the varnished wood, feeling the scars in the wood. I try to swallow down the rapidly forming lump in my throat.   
“Bye Mum.”

 

 


	2. Chapter Two

“Laura?” I drop my head back against the seat and then turn to look at Brody.   
We’ve been in the car for a few hours, although it feels like a day, and I’ve wanted to open the door and just roll away into the countryside for about 90% of that.   
Although the thought of getting out of the car at all seems less appealing now the countryside is fading away, signalling our closeness to our destination. I’m already exhausted and our journey has just begun.   
“What, Brody?” It’s going to be another asinine question in a vain attempt to get to know me. I’ve already been asked about my favourite kinds of tea and what my favourite colour is, and is it a specific shade of that colour or every kind of that colour and why.   
At least he calls me Laura now. For the first two weeks of our acquaintanceship he just referred to me as “Little Hottie” which I can only assume is an American thing. A very confusing American thing.   
“What do you think it’s gonna be like?” He asks me.   
I run my hand through my thick brown hair, pushing it back behind my ear. “What is what going to be like?”   
“The ship, dummy!” He reaches out and taps the side of my head. “They say it’s the biggest ship ever built.”   
“A ship is a ship.” I sigh, batting his hand away from my face. Why do men always think they can touch you without invitation?   
“I find it hard to get excited about modes of transport.” I see my dad look back at us through the window, the hint of smile playing on his lips. I know a lot of my attitude towards life is a lot like my mothers, and he’ll probably have a story about how my mum had said something similar once upon a time.   
  
“Yeah, you’re more into girl stuff, right?” He nods to himself. I frown at him. What is girl stuff exactly?   
Am I to be more concerned with needlepoint and childbirth?   
I’m about to reply when Mr Kirsch laughs, the sound carrying through the sliding window and into the carriage. “You know boys.”   
My dad laughs along with him, winking at me through the glass to let me know he thinks Brody’s statement is as silly as I think it, before changing the topic of conversation. I smile gratefully at him, turning my head to continue staring out of the window.   
  
I don’t know boys at all.   
I don’t understand them, or why they think women frail and in need of protection. I’ve often entertained the thought of leaving for London and joining the suffrage movement, but I think Dad would be upset. Not about joining the suffrage movement, which he fully supports, echoing the thoughts of my mother, but about his little girl being in London, alone.   
If I go out without him he makes me take a penknife in my purse. He’s always been overprotective, and if I left for London he’d surely send a bodyguard with me, under the pretence of him being my valet.   
  
“Look!” Brody distracts me, leaning over me and jabbing his finger against the window. “It’s huge.” He leans down to get a better view, practically lying across my knee in an attempt to view as much as he can. He reminds me a lot of a puppy, his constant excitement endearing, in an annoying sort of way.   
Sure enough, when I’ve managed to shove him out of the way and actually see out of the window, I can see the shape of a boat, it’s huge chimney stacks looming over the tops of the buildings.   
“It’s a boat.” I deadpan. I still don’t understand how or why everyone is so excited about a boat. Everyone’s acting like they’ve never been on a boat, or even seen one.  
The visual of it looming over the houses, baring down on me, makes me want to tell my father we’re making a mistake and we should just go home.   
I’ve seen the ship before, in the newspaper and on the brochure my dad brought home to show me, but seeing it in person is a different experience. It makes it real, the fact that when I step onto that boat I’m saying goodbye to my entire life. To me, in a way.   
Maybe I’m just being dramatic but part of me feels like I’ll be an entirely different person by the time I reach New York.  
Pulling up at the docks doesn’t help either. My chest feels both too tight, and like someone is standing on it. My dad pulls the door to the carriage open and I want to move as far away from the opening as possible. Which would be sitting in Brody’s lap. Which seems inviting, for the first, and probably last, time ever.

I don’t want to be here, I want to go home. But my home isn’t my home and I have a new home that involves getting on that godforsaken boat.   
It’s for Dad, I think to myself, you can do it for him. I suck in a deep breath, taking the hand my father has offered to me and stepping out of the car.   
The docks are a whirlwind of activity, valets and dock workers running every which way, weaving between cars and carriages. Brody practically slides out of the car behind me, stretching out his long limbs and smoothing out the jacket of his suit while Brody Snr speaks to a group of valets who begin unloading our car and heading toward the ship.  
My own hands brush against my dress absent-mindedly as my eyes wander around the scene before me.  
A car with blacked out windows drives past us slowly, pushing its way through the crowd, the ghost of a face in the window.   
I find it odd that the windows should be such a colour, like the person in the car perhaps has something to hide. Maybe they do.   
Perhaps the person in the car is famous and a target for robbery, or they carry a valuable package. Or they’re a vampire. I scoff at my last thought.   
“Look at that car!” Brody leans down to talk to me over the noise of the docks. “Why do you think the windows are like that?” We both follow the car with our eyes as it disappears into the crowd of cars and people, another car pushing along behind it and blocking it from view. “Do you think whoevers inside is all messed up in the face?”   
“No…” I start. “Well, maybe.” I pause. “Maybe they’re just self-conscious because people stare at them and make crude remarks.” I look at him pointedly.   
“Yeah.” He frowns slightly. “Sorry. They’re probably really nice. That was mean of me.” He looks down at me. “I mean, people can’t help how they look, right?”   
I smile at him, pleased with the way he responded. “Right.”   
He's not all that bad, sometimes. 

* * *

 

“Sir, you shouldn’t have.” My dad’s voice approaching from behind distracts me from my conversation and I turn to see him and Mr Kirsch approaching us.   
“It’s not every day you travel on the worlds finest ship! And you should see it at it’s finest.” He hands a set of tickets to my father. “You’ve earned it, Charles. You’re a good worker, and a good friend.”   
“Thank you so much, Sir.” Dad grins, looking at the slips of paper in his hand.   
“What’s happening?” I ask, the weird car completely forgotten.   
“Mr Kirsch has given us first class tickets.” My dad beams. “We’ll be travelling in style.”   
“Wow… That’s amazing. Thank you, sir.” As much as I’m unexcited about the prospect of travelling on a boat, travelling in first class is something that I can get excited about. First class meals, first class people, all those big names said to be travelling on the ships maiden voyage. A first class bed, that’s unslept in, with first class sheets and a first class pillow.   
  
A valet flits up to us, handing Mr Kirsch a slip of paper before slipping away.   
“Well.” Mr Kirsch hands the slip of paper to my dad. “You’d better get on board and get settled before the ship leaves.” He looks down at his watch. “I better be heading back now anyway.”   
“You’re not staying to wave us off?” Brody asks, a frown crossing his face. I think it’s the first time I’ve actually seen him without a smile. It looks weird, unnatural.  
“A business doesn’t run itself, son.” He pats Brody on the back. “I’ll see you in New York in a few months!” Mr Kirsch backs away from us, waving, and then disappears towards his car.   
“Alright.” Brody frowns again, hanging his head a little as his father drives away without so much as a glance back. I reach out and rub his arm. “Thanks Little Ho- Laura.”   
I ignore his little slip up, instead thinking about what his relationship with his father must be like behind closed doors.   
I sometimes forget that not everyone is as close to their dad as I am to mine. I wonder what Brody’s relationship with his mother is like, or if he has any siblings and other family members.  
I’ve never bothered to ask, really. I’ve always been more annoyed by his constant attempts to woo me, which seems selfish of me now. I got annoyed about him treating me like a one dimensional person when I did the same thing, not bothering to look beyond what was presented to me.   
I make a mental note to at least attempt to get to know him. He looks like he could use a friend right now.   
  


My dad raises an eyebrow at my hand resting on Brody’s arm but doesn’t say anything, instead putting his hands on mine and Brody’s shoulders and starting to usher us toward the boat.  
“Come on then, kids,” He tells us as we reach the gangway, “I’d like to be on the deck when the ship sets sail, so we’d better get aboard fast.”  
He gives Brody a push first, sending him up the gangway, but holds me back.   
“I got you this,” He puts a hand into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small leather bound journal with a small pen attached to it. “Maybe you could write about the first journey on Titanic, sell it to a paper when we get to New York.” He smiles at me. “It’s gonna be big news, you know.”  
“I still think it’s just a boat.” I grin. “Thank you, Dad. Really.” I take the journal from him, turning it over in my hands.  
 _L.Hollis_ is written in a beautiful golden script on the front.   
“Come on then.” He nudges me again, beginning to walk up the gangway and toward the entrance. “Lets get up to the deck and give you something to write about.”

 

“Look at all these people!” Brody leans over the railing, looking at the groups of people milling around the dock, all eyes focused on the giant ship. “They look like ants!”  
Curiosity gets the most of me and I peer over the side. “Oh.” I back up immediately. “We’re very high up.”  
“Are you scared of heights?” Brody asks me, glancing up from railing.   
“I don’t know, I’ve never been this high up before.” I lean forward a little again, looking over the edge. “You’d definitely die if you fell though, wouldn’t you?” I look at my dad.  
“Probably.” He’s stood alongside Brody, leaning over the railing and waving. “But you might choke on a piece of food and die, too.” He steps back, taking my hand. “You’ll be okay. I’ve got you.” He tugs me forward gently, back toward the rail. “See?”   
I look over again, this time focusing less on the distance I am from the ground below us and more on the sea of faces all looking up at us, pointing and waving.

“Wow.” I wave at a little girl who catches my eye, making her smile. She waves back frantically, grabbing her dads leg. “Dad, look!” I hit his arm, pointing at the girl so he can wave too. She looks ecstatic.   
“That’s more like it.” My dad grins. “I knew you’d get excited eventually.”   
“Give it three hours and I’ll be sulking in the room, complaining about anything and everything.” I grin back.   
“Why’d you think I bought you that journal?” He nudges me playfully, “You can complain to that and I can enjoy my time off.”   
  
For a second I think it’s weird that the dock is moving, until I realise that the boat has begun it’s journey, pulling away from the docks and the crowds of people.   
The crowd begins to cheer, the sound carrying above the noise of the ship, hundreds of people waving and jumping.  
The people on the deck wave back, cheering just as loud.   
The atmosphere on the ship, paired with my Dad’s jolly demeanour, lifts the last tendrils of my mood. Part of me still wants to be in a bad mood because I don’t know what’s waiting for me when I reach New York, or what my life will be like there, but I can at least enjoy the journey.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna attempt to update this at least twice a week, so that's something. Depends on how fast I run out of steam.  
> Also I have no idea what to put in the summary so I'm not going to put anything there, unless someone can guide me in the ways of this website.  
> I'm so confused.
> 
> also, if u have any questions or wanna get in touch, you can hmu on tumblr, I'm liztits there too.


	3. Chapter Three

“My rooms down here.” Brody stops, pointing down a corridor. “I’ll see you at dinner?”   
“Sure, Brody.” My dad takes his hand, shaking it briskly before he disappears towards his room. I never understand why men do that, shake each others hands at every available opportunity. Are they trying to prove who is the most manly? Who can squeeze whose hand the stronger?  
“We’re just down here.” My dad carries on walking, me trailing along behind him. I’m tired now, the excitement of the day wearing off and my early am wake up finally taking its toll. “Here we are!” He grins, stopping in front of the door to open it.   
I stop behind him, waiting for him to get into the room, when something, or rather, someone, catches my attention further along the corridor. A young man, around Brody’s age, short and kind of stocky but handsome none the less, wanders down the corridor, talking loudly. At first, I just glance up out of curiousity, but I do a double take when I see he’s not alone.   
The girl walking behind him, dressed mostly in black, with dark hair and dark eyes, draws my attention back. My first thought is that she’s beautiful, stunningly so. My second thought is that she looks unhappy. Almost painfully so.   
Her eyes flit around, mostly keeping contact with the ground, as she walks, a frown firmly in place.   
I wonder for a second what could possibly make her so unhappy, stepping forward toward our door while keeping my eyes on her. I realise that I’m staring, and that that is incredibly rude, but there’s just something about her, I can’t pull my eyes away.   
The boy disappears into a room a few meters away from our own, but the girl stops at the door, looking around the corridor.   
Looking at me.   
She’s looking at me. Oh god.  
I know I should avert my eyes, stop staring, or do anything to make me seem like less of a creep, but instead I smile at her. I just smile, like a goofy idiot. _What am I doing_?   
I expect her to scowl, or to look away, or ignore and enter her room, but she smiles back.   
It’s not as wide as mine, and it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but she smiles back at me, and it’s friendly and it’s beautiful. She’s so beautiful. Like a painting come to life.   
I think perhaps she wouldn’t look out of place on the walls of a great gallery, smiling down at the people who come to view her, drawing in crowds from miles around.   
I’m about to step forward, to introduce myself, to find out her name or where she’s from, or any small snippet of information about her, when a shock of curly red hair appears in front of her, ushering her into the room.   
She takes one last glance at me, smiling again, this time a small, sad, smile, before she disappears into the room as well, the door closing behind her.   
Who was that? I lean against the door frame, still staring at the empty space she’s left.   
Why do I care? She’s just a girl on a boat, but I feel I should follow after her. I want to talk to her, about anything and everything. To see her smile again.   
I think it odd, that I have such a draw to a person I’ve seen once, for about twenty seconds, that I feel like I already know her.   
It’s a confusing feeling.  
“Laura?” My dad calls from inside the room, pulling my attention away from the vacant spot. “I know it’s a nice door, but the rest of the room is just as nice.”  
  


My dad was right. The room is amazing.   
It’s actually two rooms, with a door connecting them. I have an amazing soft four poster bed, complete with curtains, and my own private quarters. The sheets are egyptian cotton, completely unused as if they were meant for me. It’s quiet. Peaceful. I spend an hour unpacking, taking in the soft sounds of the ship cutting through the water through an open window while I empty a suitcase I’m going to refill again in a week.   
We even have our own promenade, with windows looking out onto the sea, nothing but ocean and a few small ships on the horizon. If I squint, I can still vaguely make out the shoreline as we make our way towards Cherbourg for the next stop.  
Mr Kirsch has certainly spared no expense to make our journey as pleasant as possible. I have a sneaking suspicion that perhaps Father had spoken to Mr Kirsch about my unhappiness with the journey and that our room is something to make it a little easier for me.   
“Dad?” We’re sitting on the promenade, enjoying the warmth of the sun while my dad reads the paper he would usually read over breakfast and I jot notes down into my new journal. I’ve decided I will write about the journey, although I’ve actually written very little so far, my mind still on the girl from earlier.   
He lowers his paper, looking up at me. “Hmm, love?”   
“Do you think you could know someone without really knowing them?” My pen traces over words I’ve already written, wasting ink and making the writing thicker.   
“What do you mean?” He looks confused. I don’t blame him. I feel confused.   
“Like in a past life? You can see someone, and know that you’ve never seen them before, but recognise them anyway? Like they were with you once?” I furrow my brow at my own question, realising how stupid it probably sounds.   
“I don’t know.” He closes his paper, folding it and dropping it onto the table. “Perhaps…  I think sometimes you’re predestined to meet someone, that fate has a hand in your life whether you want it or not. When I met your mother, I was just inexplicably drawn to her. I just knew she was supposed to be there with me, no matter what.” He smiles softly. “Why?”   
“I saw a girl earlier, in the corridor.” I tell him. “She just felt really familiar. Like I knew her, or I was supposed to know her.”   
“Hmm…” My dad rubs at the stubble on his chin, then runs his hand over his moustache, a gesture I’ve become accustomed to when he’s thinking. “Maybe you’re just supposed to know her. If you are, I’m sure you will. Life has a way of working things out when they’re meant to be.”   
“Fate.” He nods at me, then looks at his watch.   
“We’d better get ready for dinner, don’t want to keep the young Mr Kirsch waiting now, do we?” He stands up.   
“You say that like it’s a date.” I feel my lip curl in distaste.   
He rolls his eyes. “You’re so dramatic, Laura. Just like your mother.” I heads toward the door into our suite. “I think he would make a good friend for you, that’s all. Perhaps help you dampen your serious side a little sometimes.” He winks at me before disappearing toward his room to change for dinner.   
I shake my head, laughing. I know he’s right, and that sometimes people deem me a little too intense, too headstrong, although I don’t think that that’s necessarily a bad thing. Having direction and meaning to your life could never be.

* * *

 

Brody meets us outside our door, looking very dapper in his formal attire.   
“Mr Hollis.” He shakes my dads hand, smiling. “And the young Miss Hollis.” He grins, leaning down to kiss my cheek in greeting. “Would you both do me the honour of allowing me to escort you to dinner?”   
My dad looks at me to answer. “Why of course, Mr Kirsch.” I slip my hand into the crook of his elbow. “You’re looking very handsome this evening.” My dad smiles at me, probably happy that I’m being a little friendlier with Brody.  
“Thanks.” He grins, ducking his head a little. “You look beautiful.” He looks at my dad. “You too.” He quickly realises what he’s said. “I mean, you look good. Handsome. Manly even.”   
“It’s okay, Brody.” My dad laughs loudly. “Come on, let’s head to dinner, shall we?”   
Brody smiles gratefully as we begin to walk.   
“You’re used to this high society things, right?” I ask him as we make our way through the hallways.   
“Oh, yeah, my dad drags me to this things all the time, it’s all very stiff upper lip, too many knives and forks and fourteen spoons.” He tells me quietly as he nods to a group of people we pass politely. “I feel like everyone on this ship knows me, like four people have already stopped to ask me about my dad.”   
“Of course they do.” My dad cuts in. “You’re the heir to a huge fortune, these people can practically smell money.”   
“So you know all these people?” I ask another question. If I’m annoying him he doesn’t let it show, instead smiling at me.

“I sure do.” We approach a set of double doors, a steward waiting to open them for us. “I’ll give you a who’s who of all the most important people.”   
The steward opens the door, which leads out onto the most beautiful ornate staircase, the sun still shining down on it through an amazing glass dome.   
“Wow.” I stop to look around, admiring the fine craftsmanship.   
“Yeah, it’s really something, right?” Brody nods. “I got to see it back in Ireland, my dads an investor at Harland and Wolff, we got a tour a few months back.”   
“Lucky.” My dad stops beside us, “I wonder if we could get a tour of the entire ship before we dock in New York, it’s fascinating.”   
“I’ll talk to Mr Andrews, see if we can set something up.” Brody tells my dad as we begin to move again.   
“Thank you, son.” My dad grins. “That’d really be something.”

  
We descend the staircase and head toward the saloon, stopping to greet people every now and again. I have no interest in them, but they all seem to be interested in me, the girl on Brody Kirsch, Jr’s arm. I feel that these people don’t seem to grasp the concept that a male and a female of our age can be friends, and only friends, but I don’t let it bother me, instead trying to focus on the inane chatter of a group of strangers.   
“And who were they?” I ask when we’ve finally escaped the last group of people and headed to our table.   
“Something Futrelle, I think. He’s a journalist, actually.” Brody tells me as he pulls out my chair.   
“Oh.” I sit down, allowing myself to be shuffled in toward the table. “Well, you could’ve told me that before I acted completely disinterested around him.” I look down at the table and the alarming amount of cutlery set out before me. “I don’t understand this high society stuff.” I wave my hand over the table. “What are all these forks even for?”   
My dad chuckles. “Just start from the outside and work your way in, you’ll be fine.”   
“For the first time in my life, I wish you’d sent me to finishing school.” I frown down at the table.   
“There’s nothing you can learn at finishing school that you can’t learn from life.” A new voice tells me.   
I look up to see possibly the tallest woman I’ve ever seen in my life standing at the other side of the table.   
“You know,” My dad stands to greet the woman. “That’s exactly what her mother told me.” He moves slightly, offering the woman his hand. “Charles Hollis.” He smiles. “This is my daughter Laura, and our friend, Brody Kirsch.”   
“Of the Boston Kirsch’s?” The woman asks immediately, eyes flitting to look him over. Her accent is hard to place. It sounds almost eastern european, but with a heavy american inflection. I wonder where she’s from, perhaps Hungary. Maybe Austria.   
“Yes Ma’am.” Brody smiles easily, used to the question.   
“Interesting.” She looks from him and back to my father. “I’m Lolita Karnstein.” She finally takes my dads outstretched hand. “My children are… somewhere.” She wave a hand, then turns to look around the room, motioning at someone. They approach immediately. “My son, William.” The young man from the corridor earlier appears, shaking my dads hand.   
My heart jumps into my throat. Does that mean…?   
“And my daughter,” She turns around, grabbing the arm of another person, and pulling them towards the table.   
Familiar, beautifully intense brown eyes lock with mine.   
“Carmilla.” 


	4. Chapter Four

“So, Laura.” Lolita Karnstein, who I find out is actually Lady Karnstein, heiress to the current Countess of Karnstein, the countess of a town in Austria, starts from across the table. “What do you intend to do in New York?” Her gaze is cool, and I get the feeling she’s interrogating me. She’s actually kind of terrifying, although I’m doing my best to   
“I’ll be attending university in the fall, Ma’am.” I respond, trying to maintain eye contact and failing horribly. I can’t help it. There’s something about her stare that makes me want to crawl under the table and hide. Which I can’t do, obviously. I feel like crawling under the table in the middle of dinner is probably some kind of social faux pas in first class. Most classes, really.   
I’m also incredibly aware of the brown eyes watching me respond to her mother.   
Carmilla has barely said two words since dinner began, choosing to speak when spoken to, and answer monosyllabically, instead pushing food around her plate, but I want to impress her somehow. I don’t know why I think being able to hold an actual conversation with her mother without crying or running away would do that, but I try anyway.   
  
“Isn’t the purpose of university to find a suitable husband?” She asks me, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve already found one, haven’t you?”   
Her respond to me immediately annoys me. “Brody is just a friend.” I glare. “And I don’t think that women only need to attend university to find a husband either. Women should be free to be educated and educate as they please. I intend to study fully and gain a better knowledge in something I enjoy, and can hopefully have a career in.   
And I don’t think that a husband should just be someone who’s suitable, I think that you should love the person you’re with wholly, and trust them implicitly. I couldn’t do that with someone who’s just ‘suitable’.” I huff out a breath. “With all due respect. Ma’am.”   
Carmilla doesn’t look up from her plate, but the corner of her mouth pulls up in a half smile, and I feel a small thrill that perhaps I have impressed her.   
“You have a very interesting daughter, Charles.” She chooses to address my father, rather than me, and I find myself hoping to have as little contact with her during this trip as possible.

* * *

By the time dinner has finished, I’m in a thunderously bad mood. The Lady Karnstein continued to be brash over dinner, firing questions at me and my father as though we were somehow beneath her and had to prove ourselves in her presence, and occasionally questioning Brody, mostly about his father and the family business, which I find rude. I mean, she’s a Lady, shouldn’t she know better than to talk business over dinner?

My father heads to the smoking room at the invitation of Mr Futrelle, who was seated at our table during the meal, and Brody assures them he will join them after he’s walked me back to my room.   
I don’t know why he feels the need to do that, as we’re on a boat, and the chances that I’m going to get kidnapped or murdered are extremely low, but we stroll back to my room together anyway.   
  
“Listen Laura.” He starts as we get closer to the room. “I know we got off to a rocky start, what with me not taking your obvious disinterest as a big enough hint that you didn’t want to date me, but I really like you. In a friend way.” He smiles. “I think we could be friends, you know? You’re great, and I’ve never really had any friends, ‘cause my dad always wanted me to put the business first and learn the trade or whatever, but it’d be nice. Right?”   
We stop at the end of my corridor. “Right.” I smile back at him. “I’d love to be your friend, Brody. And you deserve better than what your dad thinks you should have, or be. You’re a good guy. You’re sweet and funny and annoying but in an endearing kind of way. And I’m sure you’ll make more friends when you’re in New York and your dad isn’t breathing down your neck all the time.”   
He sighs, leaning back against the wall. “I hope so.” He rubs a hand across his face. “It’s tiring. I just wanna be a teenager while I still can. I’ll step up and run the business when the time is right, but I just want to live for a bit. Maybe go to college, meet a nice girl, have some fun, for once.”   
“You will.” I pat his arm. “We can start here, right? Your dad isn’t here, my dad likes fun, I like fun.”   
“Yeah.” He smiles a massive smile, sweeping me up into a hug. “Thanks Laura.” Putting me down he steps back. “I better head back to the smoking room before someone comes looking for me. Goodnight Laura.”   
“Goodnight Brody.” I wave at him, turning away and heading back towards my room.   
I can’t imagine how it must feel to have that kind of responsibility at such a young age. He’s barely an adult and already he’s got the weight of the world and his father baring down on his shoulders. I don’t know how he manages to keep that smile on his face. I know I’d be miserable.  

* * *

“Hello.” I’m pushing open my door when I hear a voice behind me, making me start. I spin, only to be confronted with the same brown eyes I tried to avoid staring into during dinner. “I’m Carmilla.” Of course you’re Carmilla. You’re Carmilla and you’re here, talking to me. 

“Hi!” I step back, hitting the back of my head on the door I’ve allowed to swing closed. “I know.” That really hurt. “I mean, I’m Laura.”   
“I saw you this afternoon. Here, actually, staring at me.” She smirks. “You stared at me during dinner too.”   
“I was trying not to!” I am doing an excellent job at embarrassing myself. “Ugh.” I groan. “I just… you’re beautiful, and I feel like I’ve seen you before, or that I know you. Or something less embarrassing.” I rub the back of my head, thankful that I don’t feel a lump. Giving myself concussion would make this situation about 40 times worse than it already is.   
“Calm down.” She laughs, and her smile reaches her eyes for the first time I’ve seen. Her face lights up and I can’t help but smile back. “Do you want to come for a walk with me? I hear the deck is beautiful at this time of night.”

“Why?” That was rude. “I mean, I would love to, but why do you want to go for a walk with me.”   
“Anyone who can stand up to my mother is a good ally to have.” She tells me. “I was impressed, during dinner. I’ve never seen anyone else make my mother speechless before.”   
“She was hardly speechless.” I still have my back pressed against the door. I don’t want to make her feel like I’m uncomfortable so I step forward. Which is a mistake because now I feel like I’m standing too close to her. I’m thinking too much about the situation.  
“For my mother, she was speechless.” She offers me her arm. “Shall we?”

Carmilla was right, the deck is beautiful. The sea is calm, barely breaking against the boat, and the sky is completely clear, stars twinkling against the deep blue. The horizon almost blends together, making the ocean seem endless.   
We walk along quietly. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, and it actually surprises me how easily we’ve fallen into it. I don’t feel as though I have to force conversation, but that it would be welcome when I chose to speak. 

“Where are you from?” I ask her eventually, breaking the comfortable silence. I’ve noticed the same undertone to her accent that her mother has, albeit slightly less noticeable.   
“Austria.” Carmilla stops, leaning against the railing. “We grew up all over the place though, mostly the east coast. Where are you from?”   
“Surrey, but we moved to Chelmsford when I was younger because of my dads job.” I lean next to her, looking up at the sky.   
“It’s calming, right? Watching the stars.” She looks up too, eyes twinkling in the soft light of the ship. “It’s comforting, to think how small we are in comparison.” She smiles softly. “All the lives we’ve lead, people we’ve been.” She sighs. “Nothing to that light.”   
“Poetic.” Her mouth quirks up on one side. “I asked my dad earlier if he thought we could meet people we’d known in another life we’ve lead.”   
“What did he say?” She asks, glancing at me before she return to watching the sky. A cloud floats along lazily, obscuring some stars.  
“That fate has a way of bring people into our lives.” I laugh quietly. “Whether we want it too or not.”   
“That sounds about right.” She’s quiet for a minute. “Why did you ask him that?”   
I can feel myself blushing. I hope it’s dark enough that Carmilla can’t see the red tinge to my cheeks. “When I saw you, earlier. I just felt drawn to you. Like I already knew you.” I bite my lip. “He said that if I was meant to know you, then I would.” She chuckles. “And here we are.”   
“Here we are, indeed.” I’m sure I imagine it, but it feels like she pulls closer to me. “I’ve never had very many friends. People always think I’m cold, but I’ve never thought anyone worth being warm too.” Does she think I’m worth being warm too?  
When I was younger, my mother often told me that when I found someone worth being friends with I’d feel a pull, that we’d be brought together because it was meant to be. I always thought that she told me that because I had a hard time making friends and she was trying to make me feel better, but now I think she might be right. I’ve never felt so drawn to another human.   
  
I’m about to reply when we’re interrupted. “Hey!” A girl, at least as tall as Lady Karnstein, with bright red hair and an amazingly strong irish accent, approaches us. “Settle a bet for me?” Carmilla frowns at the intrusion.   
“What?” I ask.   
“You’d die if you fell off this ship, yeah? Like, right over the side?” She asks, nudging between us and looking over the edge.   
“Probably.” I respond, turning to look over. You can barely see the water below.   
“It’s water though, it’s not like you’re hitting solid ground.” Carmilla adds in. “I mean, you’d probably drown or freeze to death in a couple of minutes, but you could survive.”   
“Thank you!” Another person, equally as ginger and equally as Irish, appears beside Carmilla, looking over the edge of the boat. “I said you could survive, but she thinks you’d die.”   
“You would!” The redheads begin bickering.  
“Excuse me, but who are you?” Carmilla asks, slipping from inbetween them and moving to stand beside me.   
“Oh!” The tall one exclaims. “That was rude of us. I’m Danielle.” She shakes her head like she’s so used to introducing herself like that. “Danny. This is LaFontaine.”   
“Your name is LaFontaine?” I ask.   
“It is now.” They shrug, grinning.   
“You’re dressed very weird.” Carmilla tells them.

“Yeah, well, you dress how you feel.” They tell us. Danny nods. “And I don’t feel like anything, really, so I dress like that. It feels right for me.” They grin. “Anyway, if anyone is dressed odd, it’s you.” Carmilla raises an eyebrow.  
“They’re weird like that, you get used to it.” Danny nods again. LaFontaine shoves her. “What? You are weird, LaF. You’re the one who wanted to come and look at the propellers in the middle of the night.”   
Carmilla cocks her head to one side but doesn’t say anything. “What?” LaF asks, eventually.   
Carmilla pauses, thinking. “It must be difficult, that’s all.”   
“Sometimes.” They tell us. “No one cares when you’re in steerage, you just wear what you wear. Clothes cost money, and no one has money. Bit more difficult out in the world, but when you’re on god's good grace, you make it work.”   
I raise an eyebrow in confusion.  
“They mean we’re homeless.” Danny explains. “Wandering the world, doing what we want. Saved up for ages to get these tickets to wander somewhere else.” She sighs, leaning up against the railing. “Somewhere less… I don’t know. Just something more.”   
“Deep.” Carmilla sounds sarcastic. I hit her gently on the arm before I’ve really registered what I’ve done. I expect her to be at least a little angry, a strange girl just hitting her, but she actually looks apologetic. “Sorry.” She shrugs. “It must be nice though, to just get up and leave whenever you want, no sense of obligation.”

  
As if on cue, we’re interrupted a third time by another voice. This one is decidedly american.   
“There you are!” All four of us turn toward the interruption, eyes falling to another redhead. “I have looked everywhere for you! Your mother says it’s time to return to the room.” She seems too tightly wound, like she’s trying too hard to maintain her demeanour.   
Carmilla rolls her eyes. “What Mother wants, Mother gets.” Carmilla looks at me. “Would you like to walk back with me?”   
Our new arrival looks away from Carmilla for the first time, like she’s just realised there are other people here. “Oh. Hello.” Her eyes flit from Carmilla to the group nervously.   
“This is Miss Perry, she’s my mothers maid.” Carmilla waves her hand at her almost dismissively. I have the urge to slap her arm again. If we’re going to be friends this might be something we have to work on.   
“Hello, I’m Laura.” I offer her my hand.   
She takes it gingerly. “Lola Perry.”   
I smile welcomingly. “This is Danny and LaFontaine.”   
She looks at both of them but her eyes rest on LaFontaine. “Hi.” She smiles softly, then shakes her head. “Time to go, Miss Karnstein, you know your mother doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”   
Carmilla sighs. “Are you coming?” She asks me. She looks unhappy.  
“I think I’m going to walk for a while longer, get yourself back.” I smile at her. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” I can practically hear the hopefulness in my voice.   
“Yeah.” She smiles at me, her frown breaking momentarily.

“Goodnight Laura.”


	5. Chapter Five.

I watch Carmilla leave sadly, almost immediately missing her presence. She looked so disheartened about leaving I almost wanted to force her to stay, even if it was just for a little while. But her mother would be angry and I wouldn’t want her to be on the receiving side of that because of me. Her mother is terrifying enough when she’s calm, I can’t imagine what kind of silent storm she would be if she lost control of her temper.   
A throat clears next to me. “So, your name’s Laura?”   
“Oh!” I spin to look at my remaining companions. “Laura Hollis.” I stick my hand out in formal greeting.   
Danny shakes my hand first, then LaFontaine.   
“You’re English?” LaFontaine asks when she lets go of my hand.   
“Yes, I’m from Chelmsford.” I smile. “Where are you both from?”   
“Belfast.” Danny answers first.   
“Really?” She nods. “Did you see the Titanic get built?”   
“Yeah, my dad helped build it.” She smiles softly, hand moving to hit the rail before curling around it. “It killed him too.”   
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” I frown, feeling terrible for bringing up the bad memory.   
“It’s okay,” She looks down to catch my eye. “It’s not like you killed him, is it?”   
“How did he die?” I blurt out before I can help it. It’s so, so uncouth, and I already feel terrible but I’m incredibly curious. “Sorry.”   
“It’s alright, Laura.” She knocks me on the arm gently with the hand that isn’t gripping the railing. “He was a riveter, working up in the gantry, panelling the outside of the ship. He just lost his footing, fell off, but it was so bloody high he was dead when he hit the ground. He was dead the minute he slipped, really. Number five of seventeen. ”   
“I’m sorry.” I apologise again. “That must’ve been horrible.”   
“It is what it is.” She shrugs. “I wouldn’t have met LaFontaine without it happening. There’s always a silver lining.” She smiles again, bumping into LaFontaine with her shoulder.   
“I’m from Derry, by the way.” LaFontaine adds to the conversation, changing the topic back to something less depressing. “Ended up in Belfast after I left home, made friends with a giant.” They grin. Danny bumps them again, this time a little harder. LaF shifts sideways a couple of centimeters and rubs their shoulder.   
“Yeah, look where that got me.” She jokes back.   
“You’d be nowhere without me.” LaF bats back.   
“Is that right?” Danny reaches out and ruffles their hair. “Remember when we met and your hair looked like it’d been hacked at with a lawn mower? You’d still look like that if it wasn’t for me.”   
LaFontaine ducks out of Danny’s reach. “Yeah, yeah.” They dart over to the window, carefully rearranging their hair.  
I laugh at their back and forth. There friendship is heartwarming, to be so open and comfortable with each other. It makes me yearn for the same, and hopeful that I’ll soon have the same.  
  


“What about you and dark and brooding? How long have you known each other?” Danny asks, throwing an arm around LaF’s shoulder when they return to her side.   
“I met her today, actually.” I smile. “Our rooms are on the same passageway.”   
“You’re mighty close for someone who’s just met.” LaF tells me. Danny nods her head in agreement.   
“You think so?” I ask them, they both nod.   
“Aye, I do, First Class.” LaF grins.   
“First Class?” I frown at the nickname. Or is it an insult?   
“You’re staying in first class, are you not?” They ask me, raising an eyebrow.   
“Well, yes…” I can feel my face scrunching up. They probably think I’m some spoilt little rich girl, sailing on my parents money.   
“I can call you short stuff if you want?” Danny interjects, but I can see the smile playing on her lips.   
“I’m sure that Laura is just fine.” I pout playfully, walking away from them to a nearby bench.  
“So what’s it like then?” I cock my head to one side at Danny’s question. “First Class?”  
“Overwhelming, really.” I trace the pattern on my dress, finger brushing against the deep blue velvet. “Everything is so expensive and people keep opening doors for me and calling me Miss.” I shake my head. “It’s nothing I’ve ever experienced before. My dad’s travelling for work and his boss bought us first class tickets as a gift.”   
“That’s the kinda gift I’d like to see once in my life.” Danny sits down next to me. “What’s your dad do?”   
“He’s a Road Foreman of Engines. His boss opened a new company over here a few years ago and he likes my father so much that he’s moving us out to New York to oversee his busiest work yard.” The title makes him sound so snobby, like it was handed to him when he was old enough to work, when in reality he’s worked his way through the ranks for most of his life to get there, starting at the bottom. He’s proud of his work, and with good reason.   
LaF moves around me, sitting down on the other side. “Looking forward to seeing America?” They ask.   
“I don’t know.” I push my hair behind my ear. “Not really. I mean, I had a whole life I’ve left behind. It’s not even like I can just go back and visit. I’m a world away.” I sigh. “It’s just all… gone.”   
“Wow.” LaF looks at me. “That was depressing.”   
“Yeah,” Danny agrees. “Just make a new life, new people, new adventures, your angry looking new friend.”   
“Maybe.” I lean forward on my knees. “It’s just hard.” I frown. “I’ve just realised that you’re both strangers and this is probably incredibly weird.”   
“No” Danny shakes her head, patting my shoulder.   
“Kind of.” LaF says at the same time. Danny reaches around me and taps them on the back of their head. “No.” They immediately correct themselves, shaking their head quickly.   
  
It’s quiet for a minute, then LaF clears their throat. “So, what do you do for fun, First Class?”   
“I write, mostly.” I shrug. “Read, sometimes.”

“Figures.” LaF replies. Danny glares at them. “I mean, you don’t go dancing? To the theatre?”   
“Not really. I’ve never been a dancing kind of girl.” I leave out the fact I’ve never really had a friend close enough that I’d want to go with. Maybe Brody now.   
I look out at the ocean and wonder briefly how I ended up here. Then I wonder something. “How did you even get up here if you aren’t in first class?”  
  
“Oh.” LaF rubs at the back of their head, suddenly embarrassed. “We might have hopped a fence. Or two. Well, Danny sort of stepped over them, really.”   
“More like seven.” Danny admits, shrugging nonchalantly and ignoring LaFontaines comment. “Wanted to see how the other half live.” She grins crookedly. There’s something about it that’s endearing.   
I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous.” My eyes flit back out to the calm ocean and then back to the pair of redheads. “And what did you think?”   
“It’s different, that’s for sure.” LaF crosses their arms. “I’m undecided.”   
“Yeah… I think.” Danny begins before she’s interrupted.   
“Laura!” I turn to see Brody practically bounding toward me. “I’ve been looking everywhere, your dad said…” He trails off when he’s sees I’ve got company. “Oh. Hello.” He bows politely then holds out his hand. “I’m Kirsch. Brody.”   
“Brody, this is LaFontaine.” I point to the shorter redhead and he takes their hand, shaking it. “And Danny.” Danny practically slaps her hand into his.   
“Wow. Strong handshake.” He says when he lets go, shaking his hand a little before looking up at her with what can only be described as a mixture of fear and adoration. “Wow.” Danny grins at him. It strikes me that if Brody is a puppy, Danny is definitely a wolf.

LaF clears their throat, interrupting whatever weird moment our tall companions are having.   
“Oh! Right, Laura, your dads looking for you. He came to my room, thought you might still be with me.” Brody continues what he was saying when he arrived, I don’t miss Danny raising an eyebrow. “He’s worried, you said you were going back to the room. And I dropped you off at the room.” He frowns.   
“Don’t you raise your eyebrow like that.” I swat ineffectually at Danny then turn to Brody. “I went for a walk with Carmilla. Made some new friends.” I can’t keep the hopeful tone out of my voice. It’s embarrassing. It vaguely feels like all I’ve done since I’ve gotten on this god forsaken boat is embarrass myself. “But we should head back.” I sigh. “I’ll see you two around?”   
“You can count on it, First Class.” LaF bumps my shoulder as they move past me, grinning.   
“Goodnight Laura.” Danny opts to smile at me, then nod at Brody. “Later, Kirsch.” They both disappear down the deck, although it doesn’t escape me that they’re not heading back toward their own class. I grin.   
“They seem nice.” Brody smiles at me. “Shall we?” He offers me his arm and we start the walk back towards my suite. “Did you enjoy your walk?”   
I sigh contently. “I did. It’s lovely out here. Quiet.” I take a deep breath. “And that air. There’s no pollution, it doesn’t smell like overcrowded houses and work yards. It’s nice. Refreshing.”   
“I know what you mean.” Brody tells me as we re-enter the interior of the boat. “It’s freeing, right?”   
“Right.”   
We walk back to the room in relative silence, listening to the gentle wash of the waves you never seem to be able to escape and the gentle hum of the engines in the lower decks. That is until we arrive on the corridor on which my room is situated. At first I’m just aware of multiple raised voices, unable to make out what they’re actually saying. That is until we’re almost about to round the last corner and I can make out a female voice.   
“Perry, get back in here, now!” The voice is harsh and commanding.   
“Yes, Ma’am.” The answering voice is one I recognise.   
Brody and I look at each other, each raising an eyebrow in confusion, as quick footsteps disappear.   
“Well.” Brody says as we make our way around the final corner.   
Any answer I might have dies in my throat as I take note of the almost limp figure slumped up against the wall at the end of the corridor, a familiar mop of dark hair clumped to their head with what looks like blood.

Carmilla. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I took forever to update this but I'm ridiculous. Hello. Goodbye. Life is so much.


	6. Six.

“Oh no.” I shoot down the corridor and crouch down quickly. “Carmilla?” I reach out tentatively, putting a hand on her shoulder and giving her a soft shake. She doesn’t stir. “Carmilla?” I try again. She groans softly. “Come on Carmilla.” I shake her again. “Please be okay.” She groans again, a little louder, a hand reaching up to grip at mine. She’s shaking. “Say something?” I almost whisper. I have no idea what to do and I’m terrified. My throat feels like it’s closing up and my chest feels like Brody’s just sat on it.   
She grumbles something quietly then coughs, clearing her throat. “Hey, Buttercup.”  
“Is she dead?” Brody crouches down beside me, putting a hand on my shoulder and distracting me from the new nickname I seem to have just been given. It’s better than First Class, anyway.  
“What?” I shake my head, frowning. “No. Here, help me get her up.” I try and slip an arm around her to pull her up but I’m not strong enough. Her head thuds dully back against the wall, making me wince. “Sorry.” I whisper.  
“Move out of the way.” Brody gently pushes me aside before he slips an arm under her knees and one behind her head, lifting her up off the ground softly. “Let’s take her to your room.”   
“I… Okay.” I look at the smudge of blood where her head was resting against the wall and try and quell bile rising in my throat. “Who did this?”   
He shakes his head, signifying that this isn’t the time for questions. “Come on.” Brody motions with his head for me to open the door. I slip around him, pushing open the door to the room and holding it for him to carry Carmilla through.   
She looks tiny in his arms, almost helpless. A world I definitely would not attribute to the Carmilla that had walked with me on the deck earlier.   
She grumbles again as Brody places her down onto the couch. I let the door swing closed and rush over to her side, sinking to my knees to try and brush some of the matted hair out of her face. I know I shouldn’t, but I feel a strange pang of jealous settling deep in my stomach, that Brody could carry her when I could barely lift her from the wall. It occurs to me that it’s even stranger that I wish I could’ve carried her, but the thought quickly slips from my mind as my fingers brush against the blood congealing on her forehead.   
“Get my father.” I say over my shoulder.   
I hear Brody’s footsteps move away from me but I don’t move, keeping my eyes trained on Carmilla’s face. Even like this, she’s beautiful. I feel a strange mixture of longing and envy but it’s quickly overwhelmed with sadness.   
She smells like sandalwood, I notice, earthy but there’s still an undertone of sweetness to it. It suites her perfectly.   
“What’s going on?” My dads sleep voice pulls my eyes away from Carmilla for a split second.   
“Dad…” My voice wavers.   
“Oh, God…” He moves over to me, still tying his robe. “Brody, go get a bowl of warm water and some towels.” He crouches down. “We should call for the doctor.”   
“No.” Carmilla speaks for the first time since we found her. “No doctors.” She tries to push herself up off the couch, arms sinking ineffectually into the cushions.  
“Hey, hey, don’t move.” My dad holds his hands up. “Okay, no doctors.”   
Brody returns, placing the bowl of water next to me and putting a small stack of clean towels next to it.   
“Laura, clean her up the best you can. I think I’ve got a book that can help.” My dad gets up, disappearing back into his room to rummage through his vast collection. He refuses to travel without them, his love of learning rivalling mine.   
  


I clench and unclench my hands a few times, trying to stop them from shaking, to no avail. I exhale quietly before I reach for the pile of towels, pulling one from the top. I dip part of a towel into the bowl, wringing out the excess water.   
I press the towel against the thickest of the blood, wincing slightly when she hisses in pain.   
“I’m sorry.” I whisper. “It’ll only take a little while and it’ll be over.” I tell her, trying to sound soothing, as I carry on cleaning her up the best I can, my heart dropping every time she winces in pain, although she barely makes a sound, as though she’s used to it.  
It turns out most of the blood has come from a deep cut above her eyebrow and another on the side of her head.   
My dad appears again a few minutes later with a small first aid kit he’s carried since I was about 2, crouching down next to me and nudging me out of the way.   
“Let me see.” He says tenderly. “Ah.” He breathes out after a few minutes, then looks at me. “All the blood made it look worse than it did.” He reassures me, patting my arm before rummaging around in the little box and pulling out a few items.

 

“I’ve done the best I can, but I really wish you’d see a doctor.” My dad stands up, smoothing his robe down. I stay crouched down at Carmilla’s head. “Or at least the Master at Arms.”   
“Thank you, Mr Hollis.” Carmilla says, trying to sit herself up on the couch and failing miserably. “But it’s quite alright, really. It’s nothing. I slipped in the corridor, that’s all. Thank god Laura found me.” She’s lying through her teeth and I’m pretty sure everyone in the room knows it.   
“Alright,” My dad doesn’t sound very happy but he smiles none the less. “Will you at least stay the night? It would make me feel so much better.”   
“Oh… I don’t…” Carmilla starts. My dad cuts her off.   
“Please? I’m sure it would make Laura feel a lot better too.” He’s still smiling, a kind but worried smile. I’ve seen it a thousand times before, for a thousand different reasons. It’s the most fatherly smile he has.  
Carmilla doesn’t reply, but nods.   
“Good.” He passes me a small vile of cream. “It’s arnica, should help stop the bruising.” He nods, looking between us before looking to Brody, who’s pressed himself into a chair on the other room and looks as though he’s falling asleep. “Brody? Could I have a word outside, Lad?”   
“Yeah. Yes.” He shoots up, smoothing down his suit. There’s blood on his shirt. “Goodnight, ladies.”

 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask, as the door clicks closed. I shift, helping her prop herself up against the back of the couch before sitting down next to her. There’s another smudge of blood on the arm of the couch. I sit sideways, trying not to jostle her too much before I unscrew the lid of the small jar, settling it on my knee before dipping my finger in. “This shouldn’t hurt.” I tell her.   
“I’m fine.” At first she tries to bat my hand away but I give her a stern look and she quickly stops. “Like I said, I fell.” She sounds groggy, like she’s just woken from a deep sleep.   
“Are you going to tell me what really happened?” I ask, applying the cream to where I think will bruise. She doesn’t speak, only looks down at her hands. “Hey.” I wipe my hand quickly on my dress before I tilt her chin up to look at me. “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. You’re safe here.”  
“With you?” She asks. She sounds unsure. Scared.   
“With me.” I reply. She takes my hand from under her chin, holding it against her cheek for a second before she lets it drop, but the tingle I feel rush from my fingers up my arm when our skin meets remains.   
“You’ve got blood on your dress.” Her fingers run across a smudge.   
“Dresses can be cleaned.” I smile kindly. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”   
She inhales deeply. “Laura, I…” She’s interrupted by the door opening and my dad stepping back into the room, followed by a shock of curly red hair.   
  
“I found someone looking for you in the corridor.” He nods to Miss Perry, who remains in the doorway, wringing her hands.   
“Miss Karnstein… Carmilla.” I can see that she’s shaking. “Are you okay?”   
“I’m fine, Lola.” The warmth in the dark haired girls voice is evident. “It’s not your fault. I’ll be fine. You should go back to mother.” She smiles. “Call for me in the morning?”

“Yes Miss.” She turns to leave before quickly turning back. “I’m sorry.” She mumbles, before disappearing.

It’s quiet for a moment before my dad claps his hands together. “Alright girls, I suppose it’s time for bed.” He stretches. “Miss Karnstein, I’m sure my daughter has something that will fit you… Although I’m afraid we’re a little short on bed space. If you’d like I can give you my room for the evening?”   
“Oh, no, Sir, thank you.” She shakes her head. “I’m sure I can just stay with Laura… That is if she doesn’t mind.” She adds on.   
“Of course not.” I jump up, maybe a little too eagerly. “Come.” I hold my hand out to help her up. “Let’s find you some bed clothes.”   
My dad looks mildly confused at my eagerness but lets it slide. “Goodnight girls.” He returns to his room, no doubt to press his nose firmly inbetween the pages of whatever he was reading before he was interrupted. Carmilla takes my hand, letting me pull her up off the sofa.   
“Let’s go to bed.” 

\----  
 **the authors notes on this are weird and confusing. I finished uni. This will get updated more often now, I hope. luv u.**

**Author's Note:**

> This is a thing that I'm doing now, apparently. I am scared and confused by this website. ok. hi.


End file.
